


Lieutenant Calls Home

by Jemppu



Series: Months [17]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr, and of"Months"moments, taking place before the couple's ultimate Discovery mission.Paul calls Hugh with big news. Direct continuation to "This Just In".With illustration:"Denevian Sunrise"
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Months [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082124
Kudos: 13





	Lieutenant Calls Home

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## Months: Lieutenant Calls Home

  
This call shouldn’t have been anything out of ordinary. Just yesterday Paul had still looked forward to it, like he usually did for such opportunities to converse with Hugh.

Despite their constant casual contacts having been quite the norm for long now, they still remain very much the highlight of Paul’s days. They are when he feels most at home, where ever he might be - though rarely anywhere unless it’s with Hugh anyway.  
  
Except just yesterday. He had just early on yesterday returned from a most successful presentation trip - the first one in ages he had held together with Straal: the unveiling of their recent breakthroughs in the Mycelial Network research. Months of heavy labor over their baby of a project - aptly nine in fact - finally all put together and presentable for the peers and the public to marvel.  
  
For the first time in ages Hugh had **not** been invited along - this trip was to be strictly business. And well, Justin had been there too of course, and it really hadn’t felt like the time to distract the team’s concentration by introducing the man to this relationship, which Justin still probably didn’t have any idea about.  
  
Paul certainly hadn’t mentioned it. Not since one sour incident he and Justin had had in the past, which bore no remembering now, and Justin hadn’t seemed to indicate he suspected anything different about his brother either lately.  
  
The last couple days had gone by quickly at the conference, and amidst all the rush and mingling and dragging Justin along, Paul had been able to keep very little contact with Hugh via messages. So, upon his arrival back home to Deneva he had been in a hurry to call the doctor right away.  
  
They had ended up discussing little else than the success of Paul’s presentation, and Paul had been left feeling a bit guilty about it afterwards, like he had failed to ask of how things were going for Hugh. He wanted to ask that now. He needed to **hear** that now.  
  
And even though the presentation had drowned out most other topics in their conversation, Paul had not even mentioned Starfleet approaching the research team again, or Straal’s threats to ‘jump ship’… again.

  
After all, that’s how the man always was when ever getting slightest attention from the Fleet. It had never resulted to anything more than heated arguments and childish insults. Such useless, re-occurring unpleasantries were hardly worth mentioning to Hugh anymore.  
  
But this time it had gone very differently. As Paul himself had just found out late last night. This time what Justin had for years kept saying would happen, had happened. The man had signed on with Starfleet.  
  
And Paul had felt he had no option but to follow: Justin was taking their research to the Federation authorities, and Paul couldn’t let the man just run off with their life’s work.  
  
Paul had enlisted. And it had all happened so fast and effortlessly, he still couldn’t quite believe it himself.  
  
Thus, this had now become quite a different call from the usual _“Honey, I’m home” -_ contact _._ And it had kept Paul up all night, dreading, unable to get sleep - bothersome thoughts not allowing him a moments rest.  
  
Thoughts, which he had then attempted to drown out by concentrating on getting started on the packing for the team’s hasty departure. Menial task, which had managed to distract his mind very little - mostly just made him feel that much more guilty now: already packing, before telling Hugh about any of this. Like trying to sneak away unnoticed.  
  
Indeed, right now he’s much more worried for the call itself, than of all the unsavory business the call is about. Maybe after this call, there won’t be anything he needs to wonder whether Justin should know about or not.  
  
The time difference between the men is such, that Hugh is coming home from a day of work just as Paul is waking up to a new day - or indeed would be, had he slept.  
  
Paul is standing by the wide window on the ground floor of his far too roomy, two floor apartment - that’s probably what he’s most loved about these Deneva Station accommodations: the windowed walls and the ample access to natural light they’ve provided, and at most nights a clear view of the vast starry skies.

He is currently taking in the beautiful Denevian sunrise. His second to last such, perhaps?

The rise which is much more visibly alive, than any sunrise on Earth could be, with the early rays of light vividly dancing on surfaces like sun beams across water. This, a direct result from Kappa Fornacis, the Denevian star system, being a binary system, thus the light from the twin stars peeking from behind the Denevian horizon on slightly separate paces.  
  
The bright primary and the dimmer companion are on so close proximity to one and other however, that the playful fluctuations of the light will cease and the resulting faint double shadows fade, as both of the stars rise higher up in the sky and become one. How long this will take depends on the season. At this point in a year, the suns rise quickly and the light with them stabilizes for the most of the day, until the shadows will start their dance again at twilight - which always feels it’s even more brilliant an event.  
  
Paul glances at his watch and sighs. The time too seems like it’s moving faster right now. He then turns and heads for his usual spot by the island counter, overlooking the room in the slightly raised kitchen corner.  
  
He taps the screen of the well worn out PADD propped up on the counter, to open the line, and awaits apprehensively. Maybe Hugh won’t answer this time. He has never before **not** answered their scheduled calls, that Paul can recall, but maybe now would be the first.

“Morning, honey genius”, a loving voice greets Paul as Hugh’s sunny smile lights up the screen. The doctor is clearly still displaying excitement for Paul on the research team’s recent success. The success which had unfortunately also directly contributed to this bit of news Paul would need to share now.

  
“Evening, Darling”, Paul replies, attempting a smile himself, but fails to let his apprehension from showing through.  
  
“Uh oh”, Hugh can already hear something’s going on, from the way Paul just greeted him with the more seldom uttered pet name, and that expression isn’t promising it will mean anything good.  
  
“Wait just a second, honey, I have the water running”, Hugh says apologetically, “I’ll be **right** with you”.  
  
Paul opens his mouth to try and reply, but Hugh is off the screen quicker than he can. Not that the doctor still probably wouldn’t be able to hear him, but seeing how chipper in mood the man currently seems, Paul is in no hurry to ruin it - he hates he has to disturb Hugh’s evening like this.  
  
“You seem unusually dressed up and awake for this early a morning”, Hugh’s voice echoes somewhere from off-screen, “is everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah… or… well. Been better”, Paul hesitates to just drop his news like this.  
  
This is how they usually converse - keeping the line open while going on about their daily business. Paul normally feels just being in each other’s presence like this shortens the physical distance significantly, but right now it’s making him feel a little bit more guilty, that he’s finding such comfort from having this actual distance between them to approach the issue.  
  
“Speaking of dressed up: you wouldn’t happen to have something to put on yourself?” Paul comments on the doctor’s usual relaxed lack of attire.  
  
“Oh, honey”, Hugh’s amusedly compassionate voice sounds to be approaching the screen, “that again?”. The doctor re-appears on the monitor smiling sympathetically, still topless as ever. “Starting to miss me too much already?”, Hugh teases.  
  
Paul obviously doesn’t usually mind, but Hugh still occasionally likes to remind him of the first time Paul had witnessed the doctor in all his shirtless glory.  
  
“Not that!” Paul huffs slightly irately, “I have… I actually have something to discuss”.  
  
Something, that doesn’t feel it should be discussed in states of undress, Paul thinks.  
  
“Oh? Okay…?”, Hugh replies bit apprehensively and moves away from the screen again. “You’re starting to really make me feel worried, honey”, his voice sounds out muffled from the distance.  
  
Paul wishes he could say it’s all fine - that there’s no need to be worried. But Hugh is right to be.  
  
The man is back on the screen, clothed. And more alert and focused now, than Paul would really care. All attention is on him now - there’s no way to come out with this discreetly. Or to turn the discussion around to ask how things are going for Hugh at this point.  
  
So he just lets it out, “Dear. I’ve joined Starfleet”.  
  
Paul takes advantage of the resulting stunned silence and pushes on, trying to briefly sum up the hows and whys of his enlistment, and that he will be leaving for an interstellar mission eventually. How he and Justin will have their own ships to command - so to speak. Oh, and how he now has the rank of a Lieutenant.  
Which feels grossly undeserved - even more so now, delivering the news to an **actual** , proud officer of the Fleet.  
  
There is disbelief and bursts of faint awkward laughter in the exchange, as Hugh is sure Paul must be kidding. Several times Paul has to repeat himself, to assure Hugh - assure himself too - that this is all true truth, that it is all too real.  
  
Then there are moments of dead silence. And more nervous smiles - no laughs anymore however -, furrowing of brows and desperate voices. Mostly from Paul himself, as he tries to explain the situation, flailing his hands in his usual manner of undisguised honesty, while Hugh listens and looks on in disbelief, his head occasionally slightly shaking to Paul’s outpouring.  
  
By the time Paul gets to the most urgent news - his deathblow as it were - the tone of the conversation has shifted from disbelief, through confused acknowledgement, to now rapidly raising apprehension, as there’s clear emotional exhaustion from both of the men and questions are starting to bubble up the same pace as the news sink in.  
  
Paul delivers last bit of his unbelievable news in as much stoicism as he can manage, and holds his breath, waiting for an eruption. Which ever kind.  
  
Hopefully not the teary kind though - please, let it not be the teary kind.  
  
There’s a heavy moment of silence, but he can see from Hugh’s expression on the screen, that something is about to happen. His own composure must be wavering as well: the despair starting to show through his attempted disguise of the familiar frown.  
  
“What the hell do you mean _“in two days”_ , Paul!?“  
  
It’s the exact same reaction Paul himself had had to Justin dropping the news on him. And coming from Hugh, you can tell this is bad: the man rarely curses, but the nature and unexpectedness of these news has him understandably ruffled.

  
At least there are no tears.  
  
“That’s when I’m expected to be on my way to Earth to inspect my new post. I’m leaving day after tomorrow”.  
  
Paul is just delivering Justin’s exact words, isn’t he? He knows it’s harsh - he’s just been through this himself -, but doesn’t know how else to come out with it either.  
  
Hugh can’t believe what he is hearing. It’s all too much. All of this. This must be some damn cruel, elaborate joke. And not a one bit funny either.  
  
This is all coming way too soon. No. That this is coming **at all** is coming as a complete surprise.  
  
“I…”, Hugh attempts to wrap his head around all he’s being told, “I honestly don’t know what to say right now”. Where to begin.  
  
“I understand. Me neither”, Paul’s voice might sound sympathetic, but Hugh isn’t grasping much sincerity from the man’s words, “It’s way too soon. I was hoping there’d be at least some time to prepare”, the man as if commiserates, “but Straal seems to have had things pretty much planned already”.  
  
The man’s demeanor shows none of the usual signs Hugh would recognize as dissatisfaction in Paul.

  
_“Too soon”_? Hoping he’d have time to prepare? These aren’t the man’s first thoughts, surely? The last time this topic had been raised - and as always before - Paul had been adamantly against ever joining the Fleet. Ever. Out of the question.  
  
And now he seems calm to be packing for a mission? For his _“new post”_? Where is this all coming from? Who is this man Hugh is talking to - this _“Starfleet Lieutenant”_ about to assume service aboard a brand new Federation starship?  
  
And not that it really matters here right now, but Hugh hasn’t even heard of a construction of any new vessels. Usually gossip of such organization developments spread like a wildfire through the ranks. But now this news is coming from outside? From his civilian Paul? Or is he anymore?  
  
What matters here however, is that this is definitely **not** the man Hugh has been dating.  
  
That man had been strictly against all such factions, which he deemed as ‘militant’ - even if only in association. The man was a ‘common man’ and an avid freethinker. Not of the Fleet or it’s disciplined ranks, nor had he ever cared to be. He has no training, no experience, nor had he ever displayed a desire to live a life aboard a starship. Heck, the man could hardly survive a weekend away from the comfort of his precious lab.  
  
His man, underneath that austere exterior, was a gentle loner. Inspired and driven, yes, but content with making discoveries through his inner peace and quiet. Dreaming of a place where he could have his inspirations come as they pleased and nurture his mental well being. Where he could keep his mind stable and satisfied, for ideas to freely flow through. The man had always been eager to disregard any and all _“outside nuisances”_ from distracting the work - as the man himself put it.  
  
The man whom Hugh is now talking with - this _“Lieutenant”_ \- sounds like they are ambitious for their career, regardless the cost of personal freedom. They are about to board a ship where they will be expected to be alert and ready for action 24/7, on a stricter timetable they’ve possibly ever been subjected to, and be on constant accountability to, and under the whimsy of the commanding officers. With no room to rest, if against schedule, unable to freely follow the path set by their inspiration, and likely without the possibility to contribute to anything unless specifically asked.  
  
_“Lieutenant Stamets”_ is giving away Paul’s creative freedom - something which Hugh has come to understand is crucial to the man’s work.  
  
The man must not realize this - must not **know** what he is potentially signing up for… no, has already signed up for. Has no-one told him? Does Hugh need to?

  
Hugh sees the man sitting there - way more stolid the doctor would care to see - and struggles to come out with anything. Something to start a conversation with.  
  
“Paul, first of all, that this is a thing **at all** is shocking!”  
  
Second, that this is happening **now**. Without any prior warning.  
  
“I’m…”, Hugh begins, “I’m feeling very lost with these news right now, Paul”.  
  
Paul nods. With the amount of stoicism on his face, that seems almost unnatural for Paul.  
  
“How?” Hugh tries to find form for his confusion, “what made you change your mind?” Is this relevant? He needs **some** answers from the man to try and understand this situation.  
  
“I’m not sure this comes from a change of mind at all”, Paul begins, but seems to pause midway through a sentence to think.  
  
Is the man just now coming up with these thoughts? Has he had the proper time to think about any of this? Of course he hasn’t: they just spoke yesterday without any of this still being a thing, but has the man allowed himself to think of this at all?  
  
“…as much as it is the natural continuation of wanting to keep the research alive and funded”, Paul then concludes his thought, “while still remaining a part of the team too”.  
  
The man is under pressure - he must be, right? Hugh’s is still not quite sure what to make of all he’s being told.  
  
“So, you agree to all of this?” he tries to probe the man, “or do you feel like you don’t have a choice?”  
  
The lack of that all too familiar spunk Paul would usually display for things he disagrees with, makes the words sound convincingly sincere however - like the man really is okay with this happening. And it is uncomfortingly unlike any Paul Hugh ever knew.  
  
“Apparently the ships are pretty well on their way to being build already”, Paul averts the question, by continuing his explanation with disconcertingly stoic manner. Like any of this matters right now, in regards to this revelation.  
  
It all feels as if just trivial facts to try and distract from the aspects they would need to deal with, concerning their relationship in these unexpected - right now impossible seeming - turn of events.

In light of this betrayal, Hugh can’t help, but to feel at the moment. Like he would’ve somehow been deceived all this time, or kept in secret of Paul’s possible true intentions. If the man truly is this okay with what’s transpiring here now.  
  
Hugh wants to think it’s not true - knows it couldn’t be -, but can’t help it either: he’s unable to recognize this man he’s witnessing now. The man shows no signs of being nothing but okay with this.  
  
Is the man this indifferent? Or is he too uncertain to make his own mind here, perhaps? Indecisive. Both of which feel uncomfortably alien for the Paul he’s known.  
  
Is the man unsure? Worried of the consequences of his decision any which way? Afraid of the regrets he might come to feel over any choice?

Is that what this is? Is this why Paul seems to refuse to put up a fight, and just accept to follow the simplest path laid for him with such seeming emotional impassiveness?  
  
It’s natural, of course - to have uncertainty over such drastic decisions. But also so unlike Paul. So foreign to see him like this, with such doubt. If that is what this apparent resignation is.  
  
While Hugh is occupied with all of these thoughts, the man sounds to go on with his trifling ramblings.  
  
“They are in need of finishing touches anymore”, the man like delivers off some official statement of the situation, “which is where me and Straal step in”.  
  
Straal, Hugh thinks. Wasn’t he a man fascinated by the idea of the team’s research joining forces with the Fleet from the get go? From years ago. Much to Paul’s dismay, which Hugh had gotten his fair share of witnessing, by being on the receiving end of the man’s irked rants about feeling pushed to move on to this exact damn direction.  
  
Hugh can’t help but to think, that some intellect must have been exchanged between the Fleet and the research well prior to this whole current agreement, for things now to be able to happen at this pace - and for the construction processes of such specific purpose Starships to be so well on their way already.  
  
But how much can Hugh say here? Can he voice his faint suspicions without causing a possible drift between the men? Disrupting their over a decade of hard work together for some faint personal notion. Selfishly biased even: Hugh wouldn’t want Paul to go - if this truly is happening. Breaking the ‘brotherly bond’ would 'solve’ that.  
  
Exactly why Hugh thinks it’s better he stays clear of this.  
  
Besides, Paul likely already knows to suspect something too. And just doesn’t care, for some reason. Hugh can’t tell, not with this 'new man’ he’s suddenly facing here.

“I don’t know, honey”, Hugh voices his apprehension, “if this at all a good idea”.  
  
In all honesty, Hugh does not want his Paul to have anything to do with the Fleet. To **have** to have anything to do with it.  
  
The man is not an officer, no matter what 'honorary rank’ he may be granted. Paul seems only to be blindly following the work’s current requirements. Putting the demands of the research first - as always -, which are being steered to take place aboard a Federation Starship now apparently.  
  
Paul’s accounting comes to a halt, and both of the men fall silent. Separately pondering these circumstances.

Paul observes as Hugh sits there on his usual spot on the white couch, with the PADD propped up on the table next to it, as it often is. The doctor’s arms cross over his chest, one hand, knuckles first, up against his lips. If there was a smile it would be obscured behind the delicate hand. There isn’t however - only uncertain eyes and those creases on his forehead that move along the confused eyebrows.

  
Hugh still can’t read anything from Paul’s unnerving unresponsiveness - this unexpected level of calm the man has over the situation. Where are all his usual cues? A frown? Any one of the many of them. The pursed lips? Any groan for the situation, or a single derisive huff even. Anything to tell Hugh Paul is still Paul, and capable of feeling.  
  
But he gets nothing. Paul just sits there, with no construable expression on, looking at nothing in particular.  
  
“I’m seriously shaken by all of this, Paul”, Hugh then finally speaks out.  
  
“You do realize we would no longer be able to see each other?” the doctor attempts to get a conversation out of the man by reminding Paul of what Hugh feels must be obvious for the man as well, but for which no concern has been addressed yet, “with you out there in the far reaches of space”.  
  
This is one of the many things Hugh has hardest time trying to wrap his head around: would the man truly be this willing to give up on the relationship they have built? This quick to throw it aside? What is his intended plan here regarding their shared future together?  
  
“I’m aware”, is all Paul manages quietly, staring down and away from the screen, then seems to go back to search for something further to say.  
  
“Those trips, as they are now, would be over anyway”, Paul’s statement seems avoidant again, and is not the least bit comforting, “we are resigning our lease with the Deneva Station and thus losing the sponsorships, that came with it. So, there’ll be no more need for appearance calls on their behalf”.  
  
Obviously: they are now in Starfleet’s employ, and will be starship bound - Hugh huffs in his mind for being fed such inconsequential drivel. It’s as if the man is trying to avoid the whole issue, by just stating the facts. Dismissing the need for a solution, or even a discussion?  
  
And _“those trips”_? Hugh repeats Paul’s words in his head. Harsh. Hugh feels hurt and irked by the implications, that that’s all their time together would’ve been - just some “trips” they took.  
  
Hearing the man say it out loud, does also make it clear however: Paul is losing his home or - by his own admission - what little he felt he had of it. And is indeed in verge of losing his job. The job, which has been the man’s **life**. Has been who the man is.  
  
Or, would be losing, had the man not already done the unthinkable and accepted this 'gig’. Hugh also still can’t believe he’s hearing of this only after the fact.  
  
But is it still? Is the work still all the man feels he has in his life or of himself, even now?  
  
Hugh’s own current uncharacteristically stern facial cues should be an indication, that he is not satisfied with the given answer - which answers nothing. And he knows Paul can read and **is** reading those cues, yet Hugh hears nothing or sees any effort from the man to try and explain himself. The man just sits there, his gaze fixed to the tabletop, occasionally peeking back at Hugh, as if expecting **Hugh** to go on.  
  
“ _“Those trips”_ , Paul?“, Hugh then eventually just comes out with it. He’s given the man more than enough time to 'correct’ himself - come up with something, anything better.  
  
Paul’s brows furrow, a bit, but enough to **finally** have a familiar cue to try and attach some meaning to.  
  
"We can still continue our long distance communications”, Paul then states, as if trying to smooth the impact, as if only just realizing Hugh’s dissatisfaction. It’s an attempt in vain.  
  
“Is that all?” Hugh asks. No opinion? No emotion? No solution? Just a cold fact?

“And are you sure we can, Paul?”  
  
**Could** they even keep contact? Could contact from far edges of the galaxy be technically possible to be established? And even if, Hugh is doubtful the crew of such a classified mission would be allowed to keep contact with outside parties, in fear of letting out top-secret Federation knowledge.  
  
Hugh sees Paul nodding, searching his thoughts. The man is clearly going through the same thing in his mind. “Here’s hoping they will at least let us keep contact within the organization freely”, Paul then speaks out, his furrowed brows now raised up in somewhat hopeful manner. His gaze still seems to avoid Hugh however, seemingly fixed to the floor besides the table he’s sitting by.  
  
That sounds like surprisingly adept thinking for a man who’s hardly in the door - already accounting for his status within the Fleet. Just another thing to support Paul’s apparent acceptance of the situation.  
  
It’s at this point where Hugh also realizes he’d be having a full-blown 'office romance’ now.  
  
But, no. Possible or not, this doesn’t feel like a comforting solution by any stretch: their long distance communications were never something, that would have been enough for Hugh - were never the intended permanent form of conducting a prolonged relationship.  
  
Paul might **say** that he’s okay with just hanging on line - think so even -, and it’s true how the man feels at home and could perhaps be content for a while by just having someone to talk to. Paul has years of 'expertise’ in denying he has any needs beyond platonic after all - or indeed even that -, but Hugh **knows** what a prolific snuggle monster the man has really proven to be - more so than what Paul himself might even realize -, and how the man has developed urges past his previous convictions during their time together, which Paul is also likely unable to account for yet.  
  
“Honey, do you really think, you would be okay with that?”  
  
Hugh has **witnessed** the man occasionally struggle with these new found impulses, even in the weeks between their meetings. The man would soon be a wreck.  
  
“It’s okay to say, if you wouldn’t”.  
  
For Hugh himself, he knows full well, how the verbal affections would eventually only accentuate the distance between them - work as they usually do: make him miss the touch.  
  
“I know, **_*I*_** wouldn’t be”, Hugh asserts, “Honey, I would miss you dearly”.  
  
Miss the embrace, those sturdy hands on him, miss falling asleep in those arms, miss waking up in them. Miss that body pressed against his.  
  
Miss that little thumb rub the man does on caress. Miss the kiss.  
  
Miss that content smile with the daydreaming stare, when ever the man gets lost in “just appreciating”, and that unabashed, not the least bit sorry smirk afterwards, when he gets caught.  
  
He’d miss the way the man just likes to lie on top of him.  
  
He’d miss ‘stealing’ little touches, just to remind Paul he’s there for him. And he’d miss ruffling that hair the man gets so silly about.  
  
Countless little things only being there could give.  
  
It’s only so long Hugh could carry on before he’ll need the physical presence - the little intimate acknowledgements to set this relationship apart from the numerous others he so easily forms and carries out daily. He needs that from Paul. And Paul knows this too. Which makes this seem even more heartless a move from the man, to try and ignore that.  
  
Paul frowns again - and not his sorry, helpless frown either - a stern, almost annoyed frown. And says nothing.  
  
It’s hurtful, to witness such apparent lack of concern on the matter: the man appears barely moved by the situation himself. Is he even worried for Hugh being hurt by it? Which, right now, he is.  
  
“Honey?” Hugh tries to get the man to say anything. To convince him otherwise.

  
This whole affair feels exactly like the kind of exchange they shouldn’t be having over long distance. There’s something missing, watching the man just hopelessly sit there, all locked up, gaze fixed to the tabletop or the floor or where ever it occasionally wanders some place off-screen. Hugh can’t really 'coax’ the man to open up, the way he usually would - make him feel comfortable, pull the man close and assure it’s 'safe’ to let one’s guard down.  
  
Right now Paul doesn’t seem able to reply. Which, when feelings are concerned, isn’t really the man’s strongest suit - not verbally anyway.  
  
But goodness, the man could at least **try**! Say **any** thing! If he is to have a long distance relationship, the man better be willing to speak up!  
  
“This is a converstion we really should be having face to face”, Hugh then says just as much, surprising even himself with the amount of irk his voice lets out.  
  
“Aren’t we having this face to face?” Paul clearly picks up on the irk - his frown turns to show mild irritation.  
  
Oh, **that’s** a thing he can respond to, huh? That’s the **last** thing Hugh wants to see right now. “Not close enough, so I could slap that face”, he snaps. Knock some sense to it.  
  
“Whoah”, a short, sharp, genuinely surprised reaction from Paul, tone and expression of which deem the sudden, uncharacteristic burst _“uncalled for”_.  
  
“Sorry”, Hugh says, but his demeanor refuses to show anything such. Right now he is too pissed off, for the situation and of Paul acting so docile for it - like the man really doesn’t care one way or the other.  
  
“I’m hurting, Paul”, there’s rare desperation in Hugh’s voice, “and I am honestly shocked you seem so okay with this - with us not seeing each other again… for who knows how long a while”.  
  
“I really have… I really **had** no other choice”, Paul just goes on explaining, failing to comfort or assure Hugh of his feelings on this, “Straal was really twisting my arm here - he is taking the research to Starfleet with or without me.”  
  
“And sure, he has been threatening that for years now, but now he has a fucking ship - two ships - to back him up. He is going. He signed on - I signed on”.  
  
Like a good partner that he is? Hugh huffs in his mind. He really doesn’t care to hear another word about Straal, or any ships or research right now.  
  
“And that couldn’t have waited till later? Till after you told me all of this? Hugh poses the dreaded question. He is clearly offended that the man would do something this momentous without any prior discussion.  
  
"What difference would it have made, Dear?”, Paul replies, suddenly with such despair in his eyes now, it’s clear he knows he’s hurting Hugh, yet is unable to act otherwise, “I still would’ve had to sign on all the same. It would’ve only delayed the process unnecessarily till tomorrow, and well… that’d be too late. For me to get packed, get transports and accommodations arranged, for both me and… the kids… all that stuff, that I have to get to right away”.  
  
Keenly focused on the practical, as ever, Hugh lets out a fed up sigh.  
  
“It would’ve made me feel like you valued my opinion”, Hugh feels he must express his feelings on this - he will not be denied an opinion on this too, “regarded me important enough to include in the conversation”.  
  
“I know, Dear. I know. I understand that”, Paul hangs his head. “But not even **_*I*_ **was in this conversation”, he then lifts his head to reveal a frustrated frown, “the decisions really were between Straal and Starfleet at this point”.  
  
It just seems so highly uncharacteristic of Paul: to be this okay with being dictated his path. To succumb to something like this without a fight. It keeps Hugh feeling uncomfortable - like this is what the man truly wants after all. That this _“Lt Stamets”_ really might be someone else from the man he knows.  
  
“Again, how are you so fine with all of this?”, Hugh isn’t done attempting to get the man to open up, “Wouldn’t you think it fair of them to give you at least some time to sort things out?”  
  
“Apparently the ships are in such a state in their construction, where the planners and builders await urgent input from us who know what capabilities might be needed for them to function in their intended purpose”.  
  
Enough with the ships! It seems hopeless to get the man to talk of his feelings on the matter.  
  
“Yes, but are you **_okay_** with it? With all of this?” Hugh insists on getting something out of Paul other than technicalities. The man must care!  
  
“Well, yes. I mean, no”, Paul struggles.  
  
“What difference does it make how I feel about any of this! What does it matter, when it’s all happening anyway”, Paul then huffs frustrated - just gives up again. He seemed so close there too.  
  
“It matters to me!” Hugh raises his voice, but still not as much as he’d like to, “To hear, if you too are affected by this at all”.  
  
There’s a fierce flash in Paul’s eyes just then, as his demeanor shifts gear from desperate to sorely agitated.  
  
“You want to hear how fucking much I might be **hurting** right now?” Paul’s voice too rises, “How much in pain I might be right now - how fucking much I’m **suffering**!?”  
  
The sudden fierce emotion from the up until now beaten down man takes Hugh by surprise, but yes, this is what he wants from the man.  
  
“Yes! If that’s how it is, I need to **hear** it!” Hugh’s voice is dangerously close to giving into the fighting spirit, “I want to hear I’m not alone on this Paul - in feeling like this! I want to know, if you too are feeling just as lost and helpless here.”  
  
“ **Of course** I’m hurting! Of course I’m lost and helpless and fucking **broken** for this!” There’s such anger in Paul’s eyes right now, with tears forming in the corners of them, wanting to come out with everything else that’s being released.

Is this why the man refused to break his stoicism? Trying to prevent the tears?  
  
“And of course I’m **not** okay with the prospect of us not seeing each other!”, Paul finally gets it out, “ **Fuck** , I’m everything but!” The subdued desperation in his frown is gone - it’s all out in the open now.  
  
“And no! I’m not okay with being forced into this fucking situation either!”

“I’m fucking mad at Justin for putting me - putting **us** in this position!”.  
  
Paul quickly glances somewhere off the screen and licks his lips in frustration, “But…”.  
  
Goodness, there better not come another thing about ships or schedules.  
  
“….its not entirely his fault either”, Paul then adds - angry still, but somehow different. Subdued. Not angry for Justin? But for himself?

  
And with that Hugh suddenly realizes what all this apparent 'defeat’ might be about: guilt? Does the man not think he has the right to get angry about this situation?  
  
Hugh knows, Paul had always assumed control over their research on grounds that more often than not Straal was preoccupied with that other project the man had going with his lady friend - terraforming?  
  
Is Paul now sorry for not having listened his brother before?  
  
“But what good does it do to wallow in this now!?” Paul then huffs derisively, “And shouldn’t all this be obvious!?”  
  
“No, it’s not obvious unless you say it”, Hugh’s voice is effortlessly calm now, “Thank you for sharing your feelings on this with me”.  
  
Paul is still not telling him all - Hugh is still doing much filling in the blanks -, but at least he can now see, that the man’s apathy is likely due to something else, than of him not caring.  
  
Which is a relief.  
  
For a moment more Paul is letting his frustration show through his frown, “I do also understand the urgency however”, he adds, seemingly bit more collected.  
  
Paul’s voice calms down, but the residues from the anger are still visible behind the man’s frown, “you can’t let a project of that scope lay idle. And they won’t.”  
  
“Not for one meager, hesitant mushroom scientist”, he adds in an almost contempt voice, his face now easing to that other familiar stable of mild annoyance.  
  
Hugh lets out a deep sigh. He’s relieved for Paul to finally have let this all out, but feels sorry for the man to feel so forced into 'submission’ like this. And is obviously worried for these circumstances seemingly wanting to split their paths apart.

Hugh then tries his hardest to come up with something on the spot. Any possible way around this, if just to introduce a catalyst for potential further ideas. Even though he now realizes Paul must have gone through various scenarios around this, numerous times by now.

  
“Why not let Straal go ahead? Have him advice the Fleet, and join him later?” Hugh can already hear the answer in his head midway through the sentence.  
  
“And let him dictate how the ships will get equipped?” Paul echoes the answer in Hugh’s head.  
  
Of course not, Hugh rolls his eyes. Not even if it was a way to allow oneself some time to process such a life changing event. The stubbornness of this man sometimes.  
  
“Are you - either of you - certain what to expect of such a mission?” Hugh then attempts to get the man to regard the task ahead - to think it through.  
Perhaps reconsider.  
  
“Of course not, and I’m not sure I **want** to think about it too much”, Paul seems unreceptive for any critical thinking on the issue still.  
  
“I mean, I’d like to believe, we’d be relatively free to continue our research unbothered as we see fit”, Paul paints a vision, “but I doubt it. I’m afraid there will be higher-ups breathing down our necks, demanding miraculous results, watching our every move. I’ve told that to Justin too, numerous times”.  
  
Well, at least the man’s expectations seem realistic. Hugh is glad the man is finally talking.  
  
“Then why, Paul?” Hugh still thinks Paul is not willing to see the whole picture. Won’t allow himself, or realize, to consider all options.  
  
“Because I have no choice here! However awful it might be, I can’t abandon the research. Not now that we’re this far ahead”.  
  
Despite how unjust the man feels he’s being treated here, he appears to be resigned to his 'faith’. Accepting to put aside his frustrations, and unwilling to spare another thought for this.  
  
And Hugh can understand why: this work has been who the man has been for over a decade now - the man is simply unable to see other options beyond following the work. You can’t reset such a thought-pattern - one’s very persona - overnight. Such a drastic change would need to be allowed time to happen.  
Time, which they don’t have.  
  
For all the time until now, Hugh’s heard Paul talk of nothing but some quiet, private place, where he could 'science away’ by himself - and now this instead?

To be shipped away to who knows where, for who knows how long a while, in a container, where the man can’t get away from the people trapped there with him.  
  
Not to even speak of the duty itself. Nature of which the man has no idea of.  
  
“It’s not only a matter of being _"awful”_ , Paul”, Hugh is mindful of not letting the worry sound through too much, hoping reason - rather than emotions - would better speak to the man, “it’s dangerous. Especially without proper training”.  
  
“It’s a science mission, Hugh”, Paul arrogantly dismisses even this more professionally delivered advice, “for that I should have plenty of what’s needed in my position”.

  
“I just want to make sure you think through what you are doing”, Hugh tries to stay on point, despite getting continuously brushed off. He can’t help but to think, how this must have been exactly how it was for Justin as well, to try and talk to the headstrong man. And just like that, for the first time, Hugh feels any kind of connection - kinship even - with Justin, the man he’s never met, but only heard a lot about.  
  
It might be but a science mission on record - and Hugh would hate to solidify Paul’s already narrow view of the Fleet’s stance on military like operations -, but as a Federation starship even a mere science vessel has the prospects to turn into something quite else.  
  
That’s one of the first things they teach you in the Academy about service aboard a starship, the mentality for always being prepared for action: one stray distress call, one encountered hostile culture and they are potentially on a daring rescue mission or in the front lines of a war, or what ever else.  
  
Hugh just can’t see this ending well.

“I understand the research is something you’ve spend years on, but have you thought about it recently, if it’s still something you want to pursue? Over everything else?” Hugh then switches back to a 'caring partner’.  
  
“And I’m not saying it shouldn’t be!” he wants to make sure not to let his own bias weight too heavily on Paul here, “just want to make sure you’ve thought about it”.  
  
“Because sometimes our priorities might shift over years”, he goes on, “and we may be left chasing old dreams out of habit, without even noticing we might no longer be that passionate about them”.  
  
Or disregard achievements we’ve already made along the way. But Hugh doesn’t like to sound **too much** like he’d be coming down on Paul with this.

“The way you light up when ever you talk of your kiddos and the star paths and all that stuff that just flies over my head, I’m **certain** of your passion there”, Hugh goes out to assure, “but I wanted to make sure you’ve checked that with yourself… before committing to anything you don’t like, or might come to regret”.  
  
“Is the 'sacrifice’ worth the reward? Still?”

  
Hugh means to end his delivery there, but Paul remains seemingly unfazed. Blank faced again - almost as if the man is not registering what is being said, or is unable to process the enormity of it?  
  
“I’m trying to say: of course you have a choice, honey”, Hugh tries to sum up his intended message, “that you are not alone with this decision, what ever you choose it to be”.  
  
Hugh wants to believe there are options - wants to encourage Paul to consider **all** possibilities, beyond his previous convictions.  
  
Paul gets it. Surprisingly to himself even, he is understanding all what Hugh is saying. It’s just the revelation of these presented thoughts that have him quite disoriented.  
  
Paul is less and less certain if hurrying to enlist before contacting Hugh was such a good idea after all. Hugh is suddenly, and seemingly so effortlessly bringing up points, which are making Paul seriously question this steadfast path he’s chosen for himself years ago and pursued tirelessly ever since. Without question.  
  
The work is something which he has always taken as a face value, and based all his other life around it - what little of it there might have been.  
  
What if that foundation has indeed shifted without him noticing? Would this be his chance to start over, build a new base and an even grander house upon it?  
  
He has after all made the possibly most remarkable achievements in the field of astromycology already: found and demonstrated the existence of a traversable intergalactic network. Isn’t that enough for him? Rest of the work would be honing the practical applications. Job primarily for engineers and navigators, right?  
  
How hands on does he need to be on any of that anymore?

  
Can’t he just step aside? Stay behind and maybe just keep in peace, growing his mushrooms, provide the research with the fungal fuel they’d need.  
  
Here he even would have an unattached friend he knows is capable, willing and eager, traveling to the stars to continue the work for him. Does Paul really need to tag along? Would it be enough for him to stay behind in homely comfort and watch the seeds of his work yield to further marvelous things in hands of others?  
  
This however, seems far too fundamental a question to tackle right here and now. In this hurry he doesn’t **want** to think about possibilities that seem beyond his grasp at the moment. 

  
He’s been laid a course already. He can’t abandon his decades of commitment in a rush - make a hasty diverging decision he could sorely come to regret later.  
  
He needs to get packing.  
  
  
“No, I really don’t have a choice here”, Paul feels such relief in his mind as he effortlessly slips right back to the familiarity of his established and well solidified mindset of _“research before everything”_ (which itself, such an unyielding standing on any one thing, should probably be concerning for a scientist like himself to hold), but also now finds himself in the odd position of trying to convince Hugh of the very same thing Straal had tried to drive home with him for years. Or is Paul still trying to convince himself even?  
  
“There will be much better resources there on the Fleet to get results from the work”.

  
“Splitting from the project now, would mean saying goodbye to being part in making history with this thing I’ve spent my life chasing - and it feels we are so close too”, he goes on, easing into going through the practicalities again. Explaining his reasoning.  
  
“I mean, even if I **could** somehow race against the galaxy’s largest organization alone, who’s gonna sponsor a lone Earthbound scientist, while the same research is being conducted and developed by Federation resources at the same time? No-one! And for a good reason: it wouldn’t be a sound investment for anyone.”  
  
Paul seems like he’s through with it, but continues after a beat.  
  
“Except maybe for Federation advisories fighting over same tech”, he adds with a faint amused smile. “And do we really want to cultivate an _'evil dr. Stamets’_?” he attempts to make light of the conversation.  
  
Hugh is not having it, which is apparent from the severe expression on the doctor’s face again, as he sits there silently witnessing the man’s desperate rambling.  
  
“Darling…”, Paul drops his head and lets out a deep, distraught sigh, putting his hands forward on the tabletop, almost as if he’d be reaching to take Hugh’s hands in his own. Hugh wishes he could. Then Paul’s gaze rises up again to stare right into Hugh’s eyes, pleading, “it would be a career suicide for me not to go”.  
  
“I can’t let Straal run away with this now”.  
  


Hugh’s expression shifts. He seems finally open to accepting the true weight of Paul’s predicament here, as the doctor’s grave expression eases in submission to the man’s seeming conviction. Or is it in lack of hope, that he’ll ever get anything more out of the man?  
  
That Zee-Magnees price Paul often jokingly brings up, Hugh thinks, it always did have both of their names on it, didn’t it: Stamets-Straal.  
  
And, there you have it. It was a valiant effort on Hugh’s part, but the man’s mind seems set. Unwavering, as should’ve only been expected, really. Paul has laid down the cold harsh facts - as is his way - and they appear to have worked to convince: it’s all for the work. The reasoning seems solid.  
  
There’s no room to get sentimental about any of it. The work has always been the man’s life. He is not going to abandon it on a whimsy. Nor should Hugh expect him to.  
  
What has this far been but a running joke on the relationships between the three men, now turns out to be true after all: Hugh has been dating a married man - man married to his work. And now, in a moment of decision, the 'family’ comes first. Paul can’t leave his kids, or his partner - the family he’s invested his life upon.  
  
Not for a 'weekend fling’.  
  
“Fuck”, Hugh utters with a heavy, loud and desperate sounding exhale. He can feel the air getting caught in his throat, like drowning him. He quickly turns to glance at the ceiling, trying to keep breathing, his lashes rapidly fluttering to prevent tears from gushing out.  
  
Paul’s brows furrow on the sight, as he’s suddenly trying to hold in his own tears. It’s poignantly harsh, hearing the crude term out of Hugh’s mouth - Paul knows the man does not use such language lightly. He is having hard time looking at the monitor - the utter desperation in Hugh’s eyes is breaking him. Why does the man insist on remaining on screen, now of all times?  
  
“I’m so sorry, Hugh”, Paul finally manages, but his voice almost fails him.  
It’s devastating to see, such pain-stricken look of a betrayed man in Hugh’s eyes, as the doctor glances back at the monitor. The love and tenderness Paul’s used to seeing there is replaced but by a dejected stare of a stranger right now, as the doctor goes on studying Paul’s facial cues, seemingly trying to find any spark of hope there might be to find there. Any comfort. Any at all.  
  
But Paul can’t help himself: he has no comforting thoughts right now, and knows there are only desperate, lost messages to be read from his eyes. He’s failing to console Hugh.  
  
“I’m sorry”, Paul repeats with a faint voice, leans in, and all Hugh can see then is the screen go black.  
  
“What!?” Hugh exclaims in disbelief, “are you fucking kidding me, Paul!?”  
The man has rarely been this mad as he sounds right now, spouting out crude language only Paul himself usually utilizes.  
  
“You better not have hung up, or so help you…”. He hasn’t - the line is still clearly open, despite the visual feed being cut off.  
  
“Can’t we just let it be like this for a while?” Paul’s desperate voice sounds trembling through the line. Breaking. “I can’t stand looking at you like that”.  
  
And he can’t stand Hugh looking at him like he is right now either. Failing to keep himself together, failing to comfort Hugh.  
  
“What? Upset?”, Hugh’s voice is angry - angriest Paul has ever heard it, “I have a damn right to be!”  
  
“Now quit being a fucking child and put the…! The dang monitor on”, Paul can hear Hugh trying to rein himself in even in this agitated a state.  
  
“…or I swear I hang up on you for good, Stamets”.  
  
That last remark is so desolate, that the visual feed is back on in a blink.

Hugh can see the redness from the tears around the man’s eyes, but the desperation in them has shifted to agitation. Cornered, Paul has switched to his self-defensive mode - staring angrily at the screen, the man seems ready for insults and petty arguing.

  
“Don’t you **dare**! You have some nerve to try take that attitude”, Hugh knows to dismiss the man before one word gets exchanged, “you’re going to go through with this like a grown man should”.  
  
“Fine”, Paul huffs, “what do you want me to say?”  
  
“No”, Hugh disregards the petty tone and barely manages to keep his own voice from sounding just the same, “what do **_you_** want to say?”  
  
“What I already did”, Paul’s voice shifts to a more reasonable tone, “that I am truly sorry, but as I see it, I have no choice”.  
  
“Yes, you keep saying that”, Hugh encourages the man to go on, “is that it? Is that all?”  
  
Paul’s frown holds and his lips purse in his irked struggle to get his thoughts out.  
  
“I wish for us to remain together”, this seems so banal to say - Paul thinks. Shouldn’t this be obvious? “But for now, I must go”.  
  
“I promise to keep in touch though… however I can”, Paul assures, “and come back once the work’s been done”.  
  
Again, as well meaning as they are, there is little comfort in Paul’s words.  
  
Is the man seriously saying his goodbyes now? This will **not** be how they’ll depart. Ever.  
  
“You expect me to stay behind then? Waiting for you?” Hugh asks, with absolute sincerity, but the tone must not register to the distressed man on the other end of the line.  
  
“I…”, Paul’s already reddened eyes are starting to puddle with tears again as the desperation for the blame he hears grasps it’s hold on him, “of course I can’t insist on it. I know it would be hard for you”, it would be hard for Paul too, “but I would really hope so”.  
  
“I… I don’t want to lose you”, Paul’s hand moves in front of his face, covering his mouth like trying to calm his quivering voice down, or at the very least hide that hopeless expression, “I can’t”.  
  
“It’s okay, honey”, Hugh assures, trying hard not to let himself get too distraught by Paul’s despair, “I wouldn’t want that either”.  
  
But he is definitely not okay with being left helplessly waiting for his man’s return like some pining military spouse either. Even thinking about it now, already has him desperate for Paul’s comforting arms around him.  
  
Hugh damns this situation in his mind, for pushing them to a place, where Paul feels he’d have to abandon one or the other - choose either his work or his man. That is out of the question. It’s just a matter of how much each of them is willing to suffer for this, right?  
  
They just sit there in silence for a while. Both going through the situation in their heads again and again.

Paul can see Hugh’s arms fold around his chest that familiar way they do, with his hands resting on those certain spots on his sides. Gesture which Paul has come to recognize holds significance - right away it tells him of Hugh’s longing for a touch, and all he can do is just sit there, helplessly regarding it, unable to act on it.  
  
He watches as Hugh raises a hand to rub his temples, letting out a deep sigh before turning his gaze up to the monitor again.

  
“When’s the departure? Are you in authority to tell?”  
  
Paul is somewhat relieved for the simple, practical question. He knows he’s not much good at sharing his feelings and can sense his failings in answering those kind of questions. He sighs, and collects himself.  
  
“They estimated in about a month from the inspection and our team’s initial input”, Paul states matter of factly.  
  
“And like I said, it’s day after tomorrow, when we need to be ready to head for San Francisco to report in. To check the premises, and give our consultation as to what the ships might still need to meet the work’s requirements”.  
  
And so they are back to this junction. Hopefully able to discuss the matter, now that both of their emotions have been allowed to air a bit.  
  
The man speaks 'business’ so effortlessly. Why can’t he be this at ease with discussing his feelings?  
  
Hugh still thinks this is way too late for any 'initial’ input from the research’s point of view to almost built starships. Somehow some of this must have been planned ahead of time. He still doesn’t voice this though, but just sighs, “I see”.  
  
Hugh feels he has to figure out something - this can’t be the end of it. And if Paul goes aboard that ship alone, he fears it will be. The man does not know what he’s up for. Not only regarding the mission itself, but has Paul really been alone… ever? Now he wouldn’t have even Straal there with him, what with them being assigned to separate ships.  
  
Despite being a withdrawing personality, Hugh has doubts of if the man knows true loneliness.  
  
And what of Hugh and Paul - of their “home together”? Paul had made such sweet allusions to his dreams of their future together. Are those now completely gone from the man’s mind? How will they fare being put on hold for undetermined time? Would they even be relevant anymore - such Earthly dreams - to a man who’s ventured the cosmos?  
  
“You’ll be spending that month on Earth?” Hugh interrupts his own train of thought to keep the conversation going.  
  
“Yes, I suppose so”, Paul seems calm now, discussing the practicalities 'with permission’, “there are courses I need to attend to at the Academy. And I assume they’ll need the consulting experts nearby during the final construction”.  
  
“Though at some point we will need to come back here with Justin, to get the rest of our stuff - clean out the premises before the end of the lease”, Paul explains, “There’s no way we can get this all cleared for now, and don’t really have anywhere else to put the stuff either before the ships are ready enough for loading”.  
  
Hugh seems lost in his thoughts, just nodding along Paul’s walk-through of his 'action plan’.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Paul suddenly appears unexpectedly at ease with the discussion - enough to dare ask such questions. No doubt exactly thanks to the nature of it having veered into the pragmatic matters.

  
“I’m thinking, if there was maybe a way I could come see you off”, Hugh replies half in his thoughts still, but gladdened by Paul’s responsiveness now, “perhaps stay with you for a while there on Earth, before you must go”.  
  
“Leave your post?” Paul seems genuinely surprised.  
  
“I have accumulated leave days”, Hugh snaps out of his thoughts and turns his gaze back to meet Paul’s, “I could use those”.  
  
There’s a hint of hope in Paul’s eyes just then, as he now hears of possibilities he hadn’t realized or dared to think were an option.  
  
“If you don’t think I’ll be in the way”, Hugh adds, “I imagine you’ll have quite a busy month ahead of you, prepping and studying up”.  
  
“No! Not at all”, Paul is eager to reply, “I mean, yes, it will be busy of course, but never too busy to not have time for you”.  
  
Paul is suddenly feeling such relief. It’s a fucking delightful idea: living with Hugh for a longer than a weekend.

Then a stray thought as if whiplashes back to him, and Paul suddenly finds himself slightly worried again: how the fuck would he ever be able to leave **that** behind?  
  
“This is not just you trying to keep me off of that ship, is it?” Paul just blurts out his sudden thought.  
  
To that Hugh actually chuckles. Which is such a delight to hear again amidst all this agonizing uncertainty.  
  
“That’s your worry?” Hugh replies, smiling amused, jesting, “Then maybe it is”. He then quickly shifts back to a more serious bearing, “If you’ll still feel like that after a month, maybe I’m there to remind you of your options”. “You need to let yourself consider them. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to”.

  
Paul sighs, “I’ve already signed the documents. I’m afraid there’s no options left - no turning back, even if I otherwise could”.  
  
“Or wanted to?” Hugh can’t help himself from sneering dryly, despite recognizing the provokingness of such a remark.  
  
“Come on! You need to know I’d rather have things any other way”, Paul assures, bit frustrated, but calm enough. It’s time for his irritated frown again. Hugh can hear how the man is trying hard to keep his _“are you fucking kidding me”_ -voice from taking over.  
  
“Hell, I **would** even break the contract, have myself court-martialed: never be allowed to set a foot near the Fleet again, the fuck would I care… for you I would. Gladly”.  
  
“But I **_got_** to see the research through”.  
  
Hugh smiles ruefully back at the man’s earnest assurances, and lets his eyes tell he understands, “I know, honey. I know”.  
  
He’s sure Paul **could** still call it off, if he felt he must, but why make it any harder for the man, who’s already struggling. Hugh still fears this might be a mistake however. That Paul is doing this for all the wrong reasons.

“Honey”, Hugh’s voice is then suddenly noticeably gentler, which makes a glimmer of hope spark through Paul’s deflated frown, “don’t you think we should both go to bed already?”, Hugh actually touches the screen, as if attempting to stroke Paul’s face, “it looks like you haven’t slept all that much, have you?”

  
“I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to packing”, Paul drops his shoulders in defeat and seems he’s almost about to let out a desperate laugh for having to yet again disappoint Hugh, “and we need to inform the staff of the situation, I suppose… and then there are the kids… and Stella’s transport needs figuring out still”.  
  
Of course. Hugh sighs slightly discouraged, but follows it with a sympathetic smile to let the man know he is not blaming Paul for any of this.  
  
“Well, I hope you’ll take a break at some point, how ever brief. Please, don’t overexert yourself at it, honey”, Hugh reminds “We’ll discuss this further, once you get things more sorted out, okay?”  
  
“Yes, **please** ”, surprisingly, Paul seems genuinely eager for the idea of a more focused discussion.  
  
“We’ll figure something out, honey”, Hugh assures with smile, his arms folding over each other again to hug his chest.  
  
Despite how much it may hurt Hugh right now - the idea, that he is being 'put aside’ for the work - the doctor does know Paul has a mission beyond his own needs. Has always had, in some extend. The scientist’s purpose has always been something far greater, than what any personal relations might dictate.  
  


“Thank you, Darling”, Paul utters sincerely, managing to sound exhausted, apologetic, hopeful and relieved all at the same time. On his face however remains a subdued, worried frown.  
  
Hugh’s smile can be so convincingly assuring, if the man wants it to be - that is not how you catch the doctor, trained in patience handling for years, of 'faking it’.

Paul can however recognize Hugh’s need for comfort through the man’s bodylanguage - and desperately wants to respond to that cue screaming at him right now. Shouldn’t he be the one assuring Hugh it’s all going to be alright? That Hugh wouldn’t have to worry of being forgotten. Why can’t he think of anything consoling to say?  
  
“I’m so sorry for all of this”, he manages.

Sorry for not telling you before acting, for putting you through all of this, for being such a fucking weakling right now and failing to comfort you, when you most need me.  
  
“Me too, honey. Me too”, Hugh agrees, trying to lift some of the obvious guilt off the man’s shoulders.  
  
It’s clear to Hugh better than ever, why Paul might have altogether chosen - or accepted - never to pursue such 'meager’ things like personal relationships in the past.

Hugh had thought it was only that the man considered such things nothing more than 'waste of time’ - and that’s likely what the man has told himself too -, but might he also have somehow thought of this, if only on some subconscious level: how he would risk having to have to make these hard, hurtful decisions between work and any relationship - to have to compromise on either.  
  
Since compromising really isn’t Paul’s strongest suit. And that’s another thing the man would need to learn, to be able to thrive in the Fleet’s team environment: to work with mediocre - compromise on his work and learn to go against his perfectionist nature.  
  
But the man’s mind must have always been in the stars. Perhaps not this literally as it’s about to be now, but in dreams of 'higher purpose’.  
  
And now he has the opportunity to make those dreams come true. It’s a chance very few in their lifetime ever get. Opportunity for Paul to realize that grand objective, which Hugh’s most unexpected appearance in the picture must have stirred greatly.  
  
But not deterred it completely, luckily; Hugh would not like to be the lone individual selfishly standing in the way of humanity’s progress in space-faring, that this man is advancing with his tireless efforts.

And wasn’t it exactly this determination and vision that Hugh had found greatly attractive in the man in the first place? Still does.  
  
So, maybe this will still prove to be the right path for Paul to take after all. As unsettling and foreign a thought as it currently seems. For both of them.  
  
But that it all would come with the cost of having to have to make this choice between one’s personal happiness and the demands of the 'greater good’. Feels… tragic?  
  
“Oh, the things we do…” Hugh sighs out loud, “…for love”.  
  


Paul suddenly perks up to the familiarity Hugh’s utterance just then: he remembers that line! Where does he remember that line from?  
  
From one of their earliest conversations? Yes, when they were bringing up the possibility of their first ever get-together - what seems like ages ago now.

Hugh never finished the thought back then - Paul recalls how he had noticed it back then even, left him wondering for a while. Maybe that’s why it had stuck in some recess of his mind, for him to remember it now.

But was it the same? Was it _“love”_ Hugh was thinking of, way back then already?  
  
Paul is unexpectedly getting all teary eyed again, but not for any of the reasons he’s already previously had today: not for the fear of loss, or anger or agitation. But for gratitude.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do without you, Hugh”, he lets out a sob.  
  
Both the physical and the emotional exhaustion must finally be taking the best of the man. Aided by the relief he had now been granted from the guilt he had been feeling the whole night.

Paul had braced himself for there to be tears today, but didn’t expect the one crying would be he himself.  
  
But why would he have thought otherwise either: has he ever seen Hugh cry? No, not until that close call during this conversation just moments ago. Of the two of them the doctor seems the emotional bedrock. For which Paul is immensely grateful.  
  
“Oh, honey. There’s no need to cry”, Hugh tries to calm the man down. And this is yet another instance to remind the doctor, as he desperately wants to wrap his arms around the man to comfort him: how can he possibly let the man leave on that ship? He **needs** to be able to put his arms around Paul.

He needs to feel the comfort of Paul’s arms around **himself**!  
  
“I can’t stand being without you either”, Hugh speaks softly to the shaken man, “I need you near, honey. Even right now”.  
  
“Yes”, Paul replies, and just like that he is back recovering from his burst, wiping off his tears, feeling quite silly or them, “I can see that”.  
  
“What?”, Hugh lets out a small amused chuckle. Is he coming across that desperate? He probably shouldn’t be as surprised by this as he is, but is delighted to realize the man is able to regard him like that.  
  
“We can leave the line open again”, Paul suggests “if that would make it easier?”  
  
“Of course, honey”, Hugh smiles, “I need to go to sleep, but I would love to have you watch over me”.  
  
“I will, dear. Always”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/177629762409/denevian-sunrise-what-is-this-now-not-a-single).
> 
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